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User blog:SkyrimsShillelagh/Twelve Stars of Taneth: Chapter 1
So I decided to start a blog series based on Crimson, and what happens to him after Reign of Chaos (RoC), and in the distant future during the Oblivion Crisis. You don't have to have been in RoC at all to understand what is going on, as the past events important to the story will be revealed through flashbacks and the like, but if you were in that RP/are familiar with it you'll have a better appreciation for the characters. If you really want to go out and get a brief overview, read the three parts that are linked to Daireg's page. Sorry for any typos or spelling errors, I’m not very good at proof-reading, so please be forgiving. Chapter 1: Sins of the Father Boots clicked across the marble floor of the grand keep of Gilane. It massive, with a vaulted ceiling held by grand, thick pillars. The ceiling was composed of several domes, the interiors of which were beautifully painted. The marble floor was set in different sequential designs and patterns, leading up to massive Marble Throne, upon which the monarch of Gilane would sit. The throne rose thirteen steps above the ground, and was perfectly cut. It was too large to sit in comfortably, to symbolize the weight and importance of the monarch, and how no man could perfectly fit the role. And the man currently sitting in it could not have fit the role more imperfectly. He wore a suit of lacquered, shining red armor, and was slouching in the throne. The hall was empty save for him. This man was not the true monarch of Gilane. He was Tidon al Din, Aleera’s brother. And she hated his guts. “What do you think you’re doing?” Aleera asked, coming to a stop at the foot of the throne, glaring up at her brother. She was the oldest of the twelve royal siblings, and although not the rightful heir to the throne, was the real power of what went on in Taneth. “Sitting?” Tidon replied. “You know very well what I mean, Tidon!” Aleera snapped. “Not only did you abandon your post, you started a war! Do you know what ten kinds of furious I was when I woke up this morning and the first news I got was ‘Tidon’s gone and invaded Gilane.’ I was fucking enraged! I was about to send Raine to come kill you when Hakim convinced me otherwise.” “Oh thank goodness.” Tidon drawled, inspecting his fingernails. “Are you even listening to me, Tidon?!” Aleera snapped, stamping her foot. “You’re finished as Warden! Done! We’re going to strip you of your rank and ship you out to pasture. You’re fortunate I don’t execute you for treason.” “Good luck.” Tidon said. “You’ll find my men are quite loyal. And content. No one wants to fight Daedra in Taneth’s back country. But pillaging the rich neighboring city? Oh the Janissaries are quite happy here, having our own kingdom.” Tidon rose from the throne and began to slowly climb down it’s steps. “You see, Aleera, I don’t answer to you or Hakim anymore. The Warden rules Gilane now. I’m sick of sitting in an old castle with the most advanced fighting force in Hammerfell at my fingertips and the only thing I use it for is defense and fighting creatures. It’s insulting. I deserve more.” “Our parents didn’t raise us to be like this.” Aleera glowered at him. “Our parents didn’t raise us, period.” Tidon said, walking past her, hands clasped behind his back. “They were two of the best people who ever lived.” Aleera said, clenching her fists. She’d let her anger get away from her again. That happened a lot. But Tidon was so carelessly calm it grated on her. “They gave the kingdom everything.” “And look where it got them, defending Taneth. Mother’s dead, Aleera, whilst visiting a bastard no less. And father? I don’t think he was ever completely right in the head.” “Don’t you dare insult them.” “Me? Insult them?” Tidon said, turning back to look at her. “It wasn’t me who sent father to rot in the countryside. It wasn’t me who’s completely reversed the direction our mother took. Civil liberties are on the decline in Taneth, Aleera. That’s not a good thing, last I remembered.” “The people—“ “Need to be protected from themselves, yes, yes, I’ve heard it before. I agree with it, even.” He smiled. “I’m sure that frightens you.” “Tidon, don’t do this.” Aleera begged. “We can still fix this. If you leave Gilane now, it’s only pillage, a meaningless curb of power. But if you sit your men here, you’re an invader, a conqueror, and you’ve embroiled all Hammerfell in a war. Our allies are going to go to war with everyone who isn’t.” “I know, Aleera.” Tidon whispered. “And it’s what I want.” Aleera shook her head, shocked. “Why are you doing this, Tidon? So many people are going to die. I don’t think you even grasp what you’re starting.” “You’ve always been my favorite sister, Aleera.” Tidon said. “But if you don’t leave right now, I don’t think I’ll be responsible for my actions. I’m not above… sororicide, would it be called?” Aleera widened her eyes in surprise. “Tidon…” “Get out, Aleera.” He ordered her. “And do not come back and presume to tell me what I can and cannot do again.” Aleera grimaced, bowed her head to him and paced back towards the massive doors into the grand hall, shoes clicking on the floor, head held high. Tidon watched her go, then surveyed his new prize, taking in the sheer awesomeness of the grand hall of Gilane, before slowly turning, and walking back to the Marble Throne. ---- Light shined on the Taneth countryside. Most of Taneth was desert or savannah, so actual green grasslands were rare. This one had been left alone, not yet converted to farmland. It had rolling, untouched hills, and a tree could be found occasionally. But right in the center of the grassland, lay a farm. It was a simply farm, although rich and wealthy looking. The farmhouse was large, well-kept, and extravagant, and painted with a healthy coat of white. It had a stable sitting next to it, which was equally massive, as if a palace was needed for the horses. There was no barn. This farm had no livestock, nor was there a grain silo for crops. There was one fenced in pasture, which was set up with obstacles for a horse to jump over, and a racing track of dirt had been constructed around it. If one were to walk into the stable, they would see it had few stalls, and the one stall that was occupied looked comfortable enough for a human. The lavishness of the stall was appropriate, as the horse inside was the finest creature one might ever have seen. A massive white stallion with, chiseled, defined muscles and taller than any other horse alive likely. The stallion’s only flaw was a abscess on it’s forehead. A bony lump that protruded from the space between its eyes. It almost looked like it could be a horn of some sort, it was a little longer, but was likely a birth defect. The inside of the house was fit for a king. All the furniture was inlaid with gold and made from finely stained mahogany wood. Hand-woven, intricate rugs sat on floors, and ever room had a fireplace. The entire house had probably cost a fortune to furnish. Only two people lived in the farmhouse that was more of a stately manor. Both older men, who lived in separate rooms. One, a Redguard of average height and with an athletic build beguiling of his age, lived in the master bedroom of the house. Each day he would wake up, dress, eat, go out and tend to his horse until night, return to the house, eat, perhaps read his books or any letters he received (And he did not ever receive that many) and then return to bed. His life was simple. The other man was an Imperial, and he lived in the servant’s quarters, and tended to the first man’s needs. They were friends, and made quiet conversation over meals, although it was clear the first man was the boss of the second. Life on the farm that was actually a royal estate was quiet, and the former king of Taneth and the man who was his most loyal butler led a stolid existence, both of them waiting to die. ---- Shayera reined in Bells, her champagne Akhal-Teke horse, whilst stopping outside the farm. The creature neighed, excited. “Yeah you’ll see you friend in a minute.” Shayera grumbled. “Just waiting for the help to show up.” She joked, although since most horses couldn’t understand humor it was lost on Bells. The door to the house opened and old, skinny, bent, Imperial man shuffled out, dressed in finery. He slowly descended the porch, each step cautious, and began to cross the yard to Shayera. Despite his age, he moved gracefully, a trained servant. By Ebonarm that man has aged in two years. Shayera thought grimly, hoping down from her horse. “Allow me to take him, Mistress Shayera.” The old man suggested, reaching out for the reins. “I’ve got them, Jeremias.” Shayera told him, hopping down. “But walk with me.” “Of course, my lady.” Jeremias relented, bowing to her, and falling in alongside her as they walked to the stable. Shayera glanced sideways at Jeremias, expecting him to speak, but said nothing. The man, although they had known each other since the day she’d been born, still observed formalities with her. He did so with everyone, it was so engrained in him. “How’s my father?” She asked Jeremias, leading Bells by the reins to the stables. “He is well, my lady. Why, he even suggested leaving the farm yesterday.” Shayera perked up. “Did he?” “Yes. When I asked where to, of course, he said ‘Somewhere people don’t laugh at my jokes,’ and then he answered his own suggestion by stating no such place existed, and all conversation of leaving ended.” “Oh.” Shayera muttered, disappointed. “It’s a start. Perhaps he might seriously consider the idea.” “It’s been two years, Jeremias. I think if he wanted to leave, he’d have left by now.” Jeremias opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and closed it. They pushed the door open to the stables. The white stallion in the large, occupied stall in the back of the room, stuck his head through the bars of his stall, inspecting the new comers. “Hey, Whistles.” Shayera said. “I brought a friend.” Whistles bayed exciting. He lowered his head, clasped the latch with his teeth, and lifted it up. Kicking the stall open he ran out into the stable. Bells tugged his reins free from Shayera’s hand, and the two began prancing around, playing like young fowls. “When’d he learn to do that?” Shayera asked. “When his lordship first moved here, he would not leave his room. The, um, Whistles escaped his stall, opened the door to the house, climbed the grand staircase, and made it into the master bedroom. Master al Din was most surprised to say the least, but he did allow Whistles to take him outside.” Shayera considered that story for a moment. “He opened the doors? With, what, his teeth?” “He may have had some help.” Jeremias admitted. Shayera grinned down at the old butler. “Alright, let’s go see my father.” The pair crossed the estate grounds between the stables in the house, and before entering the manor. They stepped into the entrance hall, where Jeremias implored Shayera to take off her boots, coat, and gloves, which she did, but probably upset him by putting them away herself. Jeremias never showed if he felt any irritation at anything anyone ever did. They passed through the sitting room, through the kitchen and informal dining room, through a secondary sitting room, to the library. It was disconnected from the rest of the house, accessible by a single door in one corner of the second sitting room, but it was of moderate side, and all the walls were filled with books. An older Redguard man occupied a very comfortable looking red velvet sitting chair with his bare feet kicked up. He wore only a nightgown and thankfully had his legs crossed because Shayera had no desire to see her father’s junk. The Redguard had an angular jaw, and deep crow’s feet around his eyes from smiling frequently, along with dimples on his cheeks. His hair had gone gray earlier, and he boasted many wrinkles, but a life of exercise and good eating had kept the skin of his face from sagging too much. He was lean, and obviously kept in good shape, likely out of force of habit at this point. He didn’t look up when the pair entered, apparently deep in reading. “Dad.” Shayera said, catching his attention. The Redguard looked away from the book, to his daughter. “Shayera!” He grinned, rising to his feet, but Shayera hurriedly shielded her eyes. “No, please, stay seated, I insist.” She told him. “Don’t get up for me.” The old man hesitated, glancing down, and chuckled. “Good save.” He said, returning to his seat. “Not eager for an inspection of those royal jewels, are you?” “Gross.” Shayera grimaced, taking seat in the sitting chair next to him. Jeremias stood in the door. “Hey, Jeeves.” The Redguard beckoned, causing Shayera to glance back at Jeremias. “Get us some whiskey, will you?” “Of course, my lord.” Jeremias said, bowing, and heading to do so. “Why don’t you call him by his name?” “I do call him by his name.” He father said, sounding miffed by Shayera thinking he wouldn’t. Shayera opened her mouth, but he forestalled her with a hand. “Just because I’m not him anymore doesn’t mean I can’t stop being me.” Shayera exhaled and nodded, before relaxing back in her seat. “What are you reading?” She asked, gesturing to the book in his hands.” Her father glanced at it like he’d forgotten he was stolen holding it, and tucked it beneath the cushion of his seat. “Oh, just something your mother wrote. So tell me.” He said, leaning forwards and clasping his hands. “How are the Keshik?” “Good.” Shayera said. “Recruited from a prison lately. Said I’d hire anyone who was in on a non-violent crime and had a family.” “Smart.” Her father said, smiling wide. “How many volunteers?” “Well, obviously it’s more popular to join the Keshik than face the executioner’s block, but half of the people who join to avoid death end up trying to desert. We’ve been getting a lot of young men volunteering, from the places where the Daedra have hit the hardest.” “Of course.” The Redguard said, nodding, leaning back and lacing his fingers. “But you’re managing okay?” “Any deserters we don’t beat, since it’s not how things are done. Instead we just tie them to their beds in only their underwear and leave them there for a few days. Anyone’s allowed to come in and laugh at them. Plenty do, so they never get a chance to escape, and the humiliation deters people from trying. No one’s ever successful deserted ever since I improved how the perimeter’s zoned. Training is fluid. I’ve got several instructors that Girth trained personally. We take squads of recruits, make enthusiastic volunteers their squad leaders, and put one of Girth’s instructors in charge as a sergeant. Then we put ‘em through training that makes them realize the Keshik is there to support them. Once they feel like they belong, they have no desire to desert or slack off, only to prove themselves.” “How many men?” “Twelve thousand right now, and I’m holding it there. I don’t want to grow to large. I know you preferred only eight, but we’ve had to adapt to the times.” “It’s perfect.” He said. “What do you need my advice for? You sound like you’ve got it all handled.” “Why do you think I’m here for advice? Maybe I just wanted to see you.” “Shayera, you’re a bit too busy to waste time visiting someone like me.” Her father said. “Believe I can take care of myself, and I have Jeeves for entertainment.” He leaned forwards conspiratorially. “Did you know that I talked him into giving a puppet show once? Said it’d help my ‘recuperation.’ Got him real excited, it did. He made the puppets himself. Cut strips of cloth, sowed them, and then did voices and everything. Made a three hour play out of it.” He started to laugh just remembering it. “I just about died, oh man, so much material…” Shayera smiled at her father, unable to resist his good humor. Sahir al Din, the Crimson Archer, the Man in Scarlet, the man for whom she was named, was her ultimate idol. Everything she had done in life, had been to impress this old man. And she’d won his respect. Shayera knew that her father had more pride for her than he could say, and that gave her more courage than she was willing to admit to herself. It was difficult, knowing how much the opinion of one person defined you. To Shayera, he father was the greatest man she knew, and could not do any wrong. But she knew a part of him was broken. Two years ago, the day the Oblivion Crisis had started, her mother had been killed. And when she died, a part of her father died too. Nothing anyone could see, he was still him. The jokes, the laughter, trying to always make others feel better, it was all there. But it was like some of the light had gone out of him. Like he’d lost something so irreplaceable, he’d given up on everything else. And in a way he had. Without Juliette, Sahir had trusted his legacy to his children and withdrew from the world. Whatever part of him that had drove him to squeeze every drop out of life, to seize ever opportunity he could, had faded. He still had the same heart and good will, he hadn’t become jaded or pessimistic. But the Sahir of two years ago would never have been to content to spend days in a chair, reading old journals, instead of walking the seating or making sure his every day had been spent doing something meaningful. “Dad.” Shayera said, getting her father’s attention again. “I came here because I need your help with something?” “Oh?” He asked, merely curious. “There’s been a recent development.” “You’re pregnant.” He guessed, unfazed. “Tidon—what? No. It’s Tidon, he’s, well, he’s lost it.“ “Always figured it’d be that one.” Sahir sighed, kicking his legs up again and looking up at the ceiling. “Him or Jasmin.” “Oh, well, I have to tell you something about her too, actually.” “Called it.” Sahir grunted. “Alright, hit me with it. What’s the damage?” “He took the Jannisaries and conquered Gilane.” Sahir laughed aloud, and shook his head. “Good for Tidon, being bold.” Shayera blinked. “You’re not furious?” “Oh no, I’m furious. But he’s still my son. I’ve gotta find some way to be proud of him. What’s this about Jasmin?” “She vanished for a while. We’ve got a sighting of her again. We think she’s a serial murderer in a town to the north.” Crimson shrugged. “Should’ve known it when she started to get sick thrills out of squishing ants. Oh well, suppose it couldn’t be helped. I hope she’s happy.” “And Aleera’s, well, she’s struggling, to say the least. She can’t manage all of this by herself.” “Poor Aleera. Always did take too much responsibility.” “Still wondering where she got it from.” Shayera remarked dryly. Crimson looked over at Shayera. “How do you want me to help?” Shayera took a deep breath. “I want you to come back with me.” Sahir opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke over him. “You could help Aleera sort things out. You could bring Jasmin back and you could probably talk Tidon down.” “What do I have any of you guys for if you can’t manage yourselves?” Sahir complained. “You know what I was doing at your age?” “Leading an army? Ruling a kingdom? Saving the world?” Shayera suggested, since she’d heard all this before. Because she’d had him as a father, she didn’t take bullshit from anyone now. Whenever someone made something up, Shayera saw clear through it. “Heading a rebellion against an evil usurper with otherworldly powers.” “Uh-huh.” Shayera nodded. “Heard that one already too.” “You’re missing the point. The point is I can’t come in saving your guy’s butts whenever things get too tough. Aleera’s well grown at this point. And I’m just old. I’ve got wrinkles, Shayera. I’m wrinkly, and I smell weird, and if I don’t lie down in bed right my back hurts in the morning. You’re choosing someone with back problems to save your kingdom for you. Woman up, slap your armor on, go handle them. You’re a big girl.” “I can take care of myself.” Shayera said, growing frustrated. “But these are your problems.” “My problems?” “You dumped the kingdom on Hakim. You neglected Tidon, and you wouldn’t send Jasmin to the Arcane University.” “Hakim was ready for it, he had more time to prepare than I did. Tidon pushed me away first, and not sending Jasmin to the University was your mother’s idea. Also, by the way, not being allowed to go to college is a really bad excuse for killing people.” “Hakim, one, isn’t you. Two, he doesn’t have mom like you did, and three you basically handed him the crown and said ‘Your’s now.’ Actually, that’s exactly what you did.” “I thought it was poetic.” Sahir piped up. “And Jasmin wouldn’t be killing people if she had gotten proper training in magic. The reason she was so violent is because of your connection to Aetherius as a born mage.” “So you’re basically telling me that everything going on now… is my fault?” “Yes!” Shayera exclaimed, realizing at this point that he’d probably been messing with her for the entire conversation. “Alright, alright.” Sahir said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Still not coming back though. Ask Jeeves if he wants to do it. I don’t think he’s coming back with that whiskey, so maybe he wants a new job.” “Dad, this is serious.” “I know, Shayera.” Her father sighed. “But I can’t. You know that. And I don’t think I can fix your problems anyway. You know what they say about the sins of the father…” “What do they say?” Shayera asked, frowning. “I don’t know, I thought you knew.” He replied, prompting her to roll her eyes. “Look,” he began, “stay the night, and I’ll think it over. Jeeves probably already made up the guest room.” “The guest room of your manor?” Shayera said, remembering the running gag her father had of insisting this wasn’t an estate, it was a farm, and this wasn’t a manor, it was a simple farm house. “Guest room of my house, yes.” He corrected, rising, and offering her his arm. “Come. Jeeves’ll make dinner. I’m hungry.” “You sure?” She asked, as she took his arm and they walked out of the room. “You look like you’re putting on some weight.” “Way to hit a guy where it hurts, ouch. I take back what I said about you being pregnant, there probably isn’t anyone you haven’t scared off.” Shayera whacked him on the arm as they exited the library, headed for the dining room. ---- “King Sahir?” Jeremias asked, sticking his head in the royal dressing room, which ajoined the royal bedchamber. It was the butler's first week at work. The king's previous personal valet had quit, claiming his lordship was 'unbearable' to work for. “Shhhh!” The king hissed, holding a finger to his lips. He was half-dressed, pulling on a familiar crimson outift. “Her royal highness is asleep in the next room. You wake her, it’s off with my head.” He fashioned the jacket of his armor. “Both of ‘em.” “What are you doing, sire?” Jeremias asked. “Getting some air, Jeeves. You know how loud a pregnant woman snores?” “I wouldn’t know, my liege.” “Loud. But I’m not allowed to you know,” he gestured to the armour, “do this anymore. So it’s our secret.” “My lips are sealed, sire.” “Thanks, Jeeves, you’re a real stand-up guy, maybe I’ll name my kid after you.” Jeremias raised a brow. “Oh? And what would that be? The name?” Sahir blinked at him. “Jeeves, of course.” “Of course.” “I sense you’re mocking me.” Crimson said, pulling his hood over his head and putting his mask on his face. He strapped a sheathed ebony scimitar to his waist. “That’s all right though. Maybe we can get a good butler-boss banter going.” “I’ll endeavor to try.” Crimson opened the palace window, grabbed his bow, and climbed out onto the edge. “Sire.” Jeremias said in a warning tone. “Oh come on, Jeeves. You haven’t even seen me in action, but of course you heard the stories.” “Nothing I know about being adept with a bow and arrow, sire, allows one to survive falls from a six-story window.” “Hah, good one, Jeeves.” Crimson said, as he placed one foot out over the air, and dropped. Jeeves rushed to the window, leaned out it, and glanced down. Crimson was moving deftly across the courtyard below, weaving around rose gardens and bushes, before reaching the tall iron-fence that surrounded the property. He waited in cover, until the guard regiment he’d planned the formation for left this one area in a blind spot, and then scaled over it and out. And suddenly, he was on the streets again. Crimson sprinted at a parked carriage, grabbed the roof of it, and yanked himself to the top. From there, he leapt to the edge of building, and scrabbled up the side of it by way of loose bricks and window sills, until he was on the roof. From there, he dashed from rooftop to roof top, weaving among the night. Taneth stretched below him. He had missed this. Free, no restrictions. Only him. No crushing weight of ruling a nation. Being leader of Keshik had been easy. He’d led by example, and then men had followed. But the kingdom of Taneth couldn’t follow him. They couldn’t see him. They only knew him by his public face and by the decisions he made. And whatever he did always upset someone. He crossed gaps between buildings, bounding across the flat roofs Redguard architecture allowed for, until he came to a tower that stretched high into the sky. Each floor had a balcony, and Crimson jumped onto it. Grabbing the balcony door, he opened it, slid inside, and almost walked right into a massive Khajiit. The black and white beastmer stared down at, poised to rip his head off with its bare hands. “Be’kow.” Crimson greeted him. The Khajiit nodded to him in reply. Be’kow wasn’t much of a talker. “Know where I can find Ishien?” Be’kow jutted his thumb down the hall. “Good talking with you.” The Redguard told the Khajiit, clapping him on the arm, and then heading for Ishien’s office. The only light in the tower at the moment come from beneath the door to Ishien’s room. Sahir pulled it open, and stepped inside. Ishien sat on a cushion with his legs in a lotus position, eyes closed, hands on his knees. He was an old Redguard man, near ancient at this point, wearing plain grey robes, and sporting a long white beard and a balding head. Crimson pulled his own cushion over from the side of the room and sat down across from him. “Can I help, Sahir?” “Now how’d ya know it was me?” Crimson said, figuring he’d been quiet so far, and Ishien had his eyes closed. “No one else passes me visits at so early an hour.” “That’s not my fault, it’s just that everyone else is too busy sleepin’. Don’t understand you got to appropriate your time, ya do. Maybe you sleep a bit, but maybe you spent the rest of the night being plastered.” “I see you’ve adapted to being monarch well.” Ishien said, with perhaps a touch of dryness. “What? Is kings supposed to give up drinking? Cause if that’s the case I might hafta quit." “How did you convince Juliette to let you out?" Ishien asked, chaning the topic from drinking. "From what I gathered from our last meeting, you strictly were not allowed to play dress-up anymore.” “Oh I asked ‘er and she was fine with it.” Ishien opened one eye. “Was she?” “Yeah, just a moment ago. I asked ‘Juliette, can I go out?’ She was real asleep but she sort of moved her head in a nod and didn’t say no, so I supposed it was alright.” “Terrible.” Ishien said. “I can’t believe you’re responsible for the lives of millions. The idea does not compute with me.” “That hurts, it does, master.” “Oh, I have faith in you. Just however they agreed to crown you is beyond me.” Ishien chuckled, opening both eyes now. “How can I help you, Sahir?” “I need advice.” “On?” “How much…” he gestured around him, “this. Everything. I don’t think I’m cut out for kinging, Ishien. Punching folks and making sure an army marches right is one thing. But deciding tax policy is something else. And no matter what I do, I get someone coming in to complain about what I did. And they I got to at least try’ta help ‘em, otherwise they fuss up a whole storm and make more problems I have to fix.” “It’s the never-ending battle, Sahir.” Ishien said. “You can’t make everyone happy. You just do your best to improve what you can. You have to hope decent people pick up the slack everywhere else. Beyond what you may believe, you’re a good king. Your benevolent, you care about the people, and you trust your advisors.” “That’s the thing though. When I was running the Keshik, everyone was my friend. Everyone wanted to be in it ‘cause of me. No one was trying to grab power. But in the court, I don’t know who to trust. Did you know there was one noble who was conspiring to have me assassinated?” Crimson nodded. “Yup. Got one of the chef’s assistants in on it and everything, were going to poison my food. And the poison was nasty too, he wanted me to go badly. Vomits and guts would be flying out and everything, gross. ‘Course, I’m good at playing the game myself. Poison had’ta be shipped into the city, its contraband that made the list, and I tracked it back to him. Had ‘em just lock him in the dungeon. Didn’t really feel like the right day fer an execution. Neither did the next day, or the next really, so he’s been down there for a few weeks now. Cook’s assistant just killed herself. Kind of tidies that up.” “There’s intrigue in politics, Sahir. It happens.” “Okay, okay, I get that, but it should’ve be happening to me. I don’t get assassinated or schemed upon. The guys who do it are all like ‘Oh, Sahir, we’re best friends, here meet my daughter, come visit my house, while I secretly plan to stab your face in.’ It’s just so uncalled for.” Crimson sighed, slouching back. “Sahir.” Ishien said, getting Crimson’s attention. “Assuming being king would be the end, that it’d be where your life gets easier, was a false assumption. It doesn’t get any easier, it only gets harder from here on out. Your decisions will affect and touch millions of live. What you do and say while cause ripples of impact throughout all of the kingdom.” “You’re not really making me feel much better.” “I’m not trying to. What I’m trying to tell you is how important this new job of yours is. It’s a responsibility of the utmost significance. And you need to understand there is no one better suited to it than you are. Would you trust it to anyone else?” “You know I wouldn’t.” Crimson said. Taneth was his to defend, regardless how he felt of the burdens that brought. “Then why are you complaining? Just always make what you see as the right choice. Stick to your code, and you’ll do fine.” Crimson nodded. “Thanks, Ishien, I-” There was a sudden scream outside, penetrating the thin walls of the Taneth Hall of the Virtues of War. Crimson jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to check that out.” “Sahir—“ “Gotta run!” Crimson said, dashing past Ishien, out onto the man’s own balcony, and leaping off. He dropped to street, landing in a roll, and popped up onto his feet. A scream sounded again, and Crimson sprinted towards the sound over a cobblestone road, into an alley way darker than the street at night. Crimson turned into the alleyway, bow raised with an arrow drawn, and scanned it for targets. This was where the scream had come from, and it was empty, save for a few carts of boxes and other unimportant items. He frowned, lowering his bow. Turning to leave, a flash of movement caught his. Crimson raised the bow again and, to his surprise, now saw a figure standing in the shadows. “Why don’t ya show me yer pretty face?” Crimson suggested. “Not kind of ya, to spook a fellow like that.” “Are you certain that’s what you want?” The figure asked him. Crimson frowned. The voice was familiar. “Something tells me you won’t like what you see.” “Well I’ll be the judge of that.” Crimson said. “I’ve got some tough eyes on me, anyhow. Work’em out, I do.” “Very well.” The figure relented, stepping into view. Crimson nearly dropped his bow. The man standing there was an Imperial of impeccable beauty—although that wasn’t why Crimson was surprised, since Sahir only got hots for women, he did—the man standing there was Heartbender. Crimson’s former second in command turned traitor, who was also quite dead. Crimson knew that for certain: he’d killed Bender himself. “You’re dead.” Crimson said bluntly, unsure how else to respond. “Am I?” Bender asked, walking forwards, the moon casting light upon him. A deep vicious scar ran down one side of his face, through his eye, blinding it. His neck also had a scar on it, from his throat being slit. He wore an outfit of red Hammerfellian clothes, which hung loosely on his lean frame. He had a sword at his hip, and Crimson did indeed recognize it as Heartbender’s blade. “I don’t feel very dead.” Crimson tossed his bow aside. “Let’s fix that.” He drew the ebony scimitar at his hip and dashed forwards, sword raised. Heartbender drew his own sword and managed to deflect Crimson’s attach just in time, raising his sword to meet the other with a metallic clang. Crimson side-stepped away from Heartbender, and then slashed at the man’s waist. Bender narrowly avoided that one, slapping away Crimsons’ stroke. Crimson’s rotated his wrist, using the force of Bender’s counterattack to bring his weapon back around, and in a chop towards Bender’s chest. He cleaved through Bender’s pectoral muscle, and then through his bicep. Bender grunted, stumbling back, glancing down at his bleeding wounds and torn muscles, his arm hanging limply, but didn’t seem too pained by what had been done to him. In fact, he didn't appear to be in any pain at all. Those few second of combat told Crimson everything he needed to know. Fighting styles signified who someone was, they were like fingerprints, unique to each person. Bender had been much better at sword-fighting when Crimson had last fought him—he’d nearly killed Crimson. And judging by what Crimson had just seen, this wasn’t Bender. It was someone else wearing his ex-friend’s face. “Who are you?” Crimson asked, lowering his sword. “Your opposite.” Not-Bender answered. “I see I will not beat you in this medium. I will try something else then. Farewell.” Not-Bender suddenly pulled a small black orb from his pocket. Crimson lunged forwards, attempting to stop him, but only got a face full of smoke as fake Bender threw the ball into the ground. Crimson coughed, waving his hand in front of his face as the smoke cleared. Not-Bender was gone. It was a quiet, solemn walk he took back to the palace. Any peace of mind the meeting with Ishien had given him had been lost in the duel with the imposter. Entering back in the way he had left, he found Jeremias there, waiting for him. “The queen did not awake, sire.” “Thanks, Jeeves.” Crimson said quietly, removing his jacket, and disrobing so he could slip back into his pajamas. “Did you find the peace and quiet you were looking for?” Jeremias asked. “No.” Crimson sighed, shaking his head. “I found the opposite.” END OF PART 1 Part 2 Category:Blog posts Category:Stories Category:Twelve Stars of Taneth